


The Difference Between Us

by Nahara



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: M/M, eloquent!merlin, trading places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nahara/pseuds/Nahara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has been invited on an important embassy to a part of Wales that has not outlawed magic. Uther fears for his son's safety. His answer: Merlin must act as a body double. Now Arthur has to learn to be a manservant, and Merlin a prince. But when they reach their destination both learn more than how to pretend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Difference Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written back in 2009, just after the end of S1.

“Father! You cannot be serious?”

“I am.” Uther’s tone was cold.

“But, my lord, I am more than capable of taking on any kind of threat facing me. I am a trained warrior; I have lead men into battle. I won’t… _hide_.” Arthur was finding it hard to keep his voice level. His hands clenched at his tunic.

Uther scowled, lips thinning. “I know you’re a worthy knight, Arthur,” he said. “But this is not about testing your bravery. This is about your safety. Lord Idris has cordially invited you to visit. And Lord Idris does not do cordiality.”

“I understand, my lord. But –”

“No!” Uther snapped. “I don’t think you _do_. Lord Idris invited us into his lands, not the other way round. I cannot disregard his invitation without causing offence; it could start a war. I dislike the man greatly; he and the Demetae tribe have not outlawed magic and so I can’t trust their intentions to be completely honourable.” Uther paused for a moment to scowl at Arthur, fixing him with that ruthless gaze that made even Arthur fear his father sometimes.

“However,” King Uther continued, “if Lord Idris really is interested in a treaty, we would have a powerful ally on our borders. We can’t allow this opportunity to slip from our grasp. And at the same time, we can’t afford to have you so open to attack in a land known to harbour sorcery.”

Arthur had bowed his head during the speech, allowing his father’s anger to wash over him. His hands still clenched at his tunic. Finally he couldn’t keep his voice from shouting out in exasperation: “Yes, but _Merlin_?”

“He’s the obvious choice. You spend a lot of time in each other’s presence. It won’t be hard for you teach him, and he you.”

“And he me? What do you mean, my lord?”

“I think you should go as his manservant.”

Arthur actually laughed; a laugh that quickly turned into a cough at the look on his father’s face. “Why can’t I just go as another knight?”

“Because going as the manservant to Prince Arthur will afford you more anonymity. You’ll be able to go where Merlin goes, make sure the boy does his duty, and go where the knights cannot, listen to the gossip of Lord Idris’s servants. It is the perfect disguise.”

Arthur stopped himself from sighing in frustration. “I still don’t like it, my lord.”

“It is not up for negotiation, Arthur. I am King; make this happen. You have a month before you must leave for Carmarthen. Now, no more discussion. You are _dismissed_.”

Arthur bowed to his father and turned stiffly to leave. He could feel his father’s displeasure hot on his back as he headed to the double doors. Arthur squared his shoulders, not looking back.

Outside the audience hall a lanky young man with rather large ears and dark hair leaned against a stone pillar. His eyes were closed and his arms folded. _Merlin_. Arthur’s manservant seemed to be asleep, head lolling stupidly.

“Merlin!” Arthur barked. The young man visibly jumped, blue eyes opening so wide that Arthur wondered if he were making up for them being closed.

“Yes, sire?”

“You are rather useless, aren’t you?”

“Sire?”

“Were you asleep?”

“Erm… no?” Merlin bit his lip and winced slightly at the obvious lie. Arthur grunted and rubbed a hand through his hair.

“This is going to be a lot of work,” he said to himself. Merlin looked puzzled and began to slowly make his way towards Arthur, as though worried about some delayed retaliation for being caught asleep.

“Is something wrong, sire? Anything I can do?” The concerned look on Merlin’s face was enough for Arthur to straighten and glare.

“ _Yes_. By royal command,” Arthur’s eyes darted towards the audience hall, “we must make you into a prince.”

Without another word on the subject, Arthur stalked off down the hallway towards his chambers. _Let Merlin catch up_ , he thought sourly. A few moments later the slapping of Merlin’s running feet came to Arthur’s ears. He smiled to himself.

“A… a prince did you say?” Merlin was a little out of breath.

“I did indeed.” Arthur waited.

Merlin rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue quietly. “ _And_ ….” he prompted after it became clear Arthur wasn’t going to divulge further.

“It seems my father thinks you will make a fine double for me on my embassy to Carmarthen. He’s rather terrified Lord Idris or one of the Demetae tribe will try to attack me with magic while I’m there and doesn’t wish me to be a target.”

“Your double? But I look nothing like you!”

It was really quite painful to see such confusion in a face. Arthur almost pitied the young man. Almost.

“Lord Idris has never seen what I look like. It won’t matter that, even though I’m blond with stunning, heroic features, I’m being portrayed by a gawky, big-eared moron.”

Merlin murmured something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘prat’, but Arthur chose to ignore this. Merlin was silent for a few moments before he spoke again.

“So instead I’m to be the target for any attacks… because, I’ll be… you?”

“Great deduction skills. Like _lightning_ you are.” Arthur saw Merlin scowl at the dig, but the manservant said nothing. “For the next month I will teach you as much as I can about being me.”

“Do I have to walk with a swagger like you?”

“A what?” Arthur spluttered. “I don’t _swagger_ , Merlin.”

“Oh, right. Sure.”

“I walk with distinction; pride; honour. I walk the way royalty should walk!” He was shouting now. A passing maid scurried away in fright. Arthur looked up at the ceiling in something close to despair and ran his hand through his hair again. “This is going to take a lot of hard work.”

 

 

 

“No, no, no! That is not how you bow to a lady of lower rank than yourself.” Arthur stormed up to Merlin and jerked the man up by his shoulder until he was a hand span higher. Merlin heaved a heavy sigh that made Arthur want to slap his manservant. They were both exhausted.

It was only a week before they were due to embark on the embassy. With every passing day Merlin was learning more about being a prince and with every passing day it became obvious that Merlin knew so little about being a prince. The deficit was beginning to grate on Arthur, though he wouldn’t admit that he was also scared for the idiot’s survival.

They’d had the tailor measure Merlin for some properly royal-looking pieces of clothing. He simply could not go dressed like a pauper. Merlin had looked uncomfortable the entire time the tailor _tutted_ over the circumference of his waist and the depth of his shoulders.

Then Arthur had begun to prove what being a prince really meant. He explained to Merlin how the diplomatic process worked and told him the history of Lord Idris’s land and of his allies and Camelot’s own dealings with the Demetae tribe. He showed Merlin how to accept gifts from differently ranked individuals, how to walk with a sword (and not to look like a moron while doing it), how to compliment a lady without being too forward, how to treat the servants; local customs.

And then there was the dancing.

Arthur had organised for one of the court musicians to play them the _estampie._ He needed Merlin to know at least a little about dancing, should the occasion arise. But Merlin just had no rhythm.

“On the beat! I said on the beat, damn it, not the offbeat. No, stop! You’re stepping on my toes; you’re not supposed to get close enough to step on anyone’s toes, Merlin. Now, just touch finger tips. Yes, like that… no. You were doing fine until you started moving to the left. We move to the right now. Three beats: step, step, step, foot change, fingertips, right, step, step –” And so it had gone for hours. Merlin was hopeless.

“Remember,” Arthur said with real weariness, hand still on Merlin’s shoulder. “You mustn’t bow to a lady of lower rank as though she were a queen. It wouldn’t be proper. You are the heir apparent of Camelot. Try to remember that, would you?”

“I am trying, Arthur.” Merlin’s voice was lethargic and his eyelids kept lowering, only to shoot open again when Merlin realised his slip.

“I think we can stop for the night. We’ve done all we can for today.”

 

 

 

It was the evening before departure and Arthur was cooped up in his rooms, pacing the floor, while the tailor fussed over Merlin’s new wardrobe in the bedchamber. The poor woman had looked as though she hadn’t slept for a good few nights. Everyone was on edge.

Arthur waited patiently; or as patiently as he could, considering the circumstances. He paced but that got old quickly, so he sat down. He tapped his booted foot on the floor, then drummed his fingers against the hand rest, then whistled to himself.

“Merlin, are you ready yet?” he called at last. “I’ve been sitting here since before sunset. Am I to be an old man before you’re dressed?” The door opened behind him with a creak. “Finally!”

Merlin stood in the doorway of Arthur’s bedchamber, an embarrassed but cheerful smile on his face. His dark hair had been tamed with a brush and he wore a dark red tunic with the Pendragon insignia emblazoned in gold across his heart; it was a masterpiece. The tunic was fitted and didn’t bag around Merlin’s lanky frame; the effect was to make Merlin appear broader, taller even, than he had seemed otherwise. To finish, he wore fitted brown trousers and a pair of Arthur’s leather, calf-high boots.

“So? Do I look like a prince, yet?” Merlin asked, striking a dashing pose, hands on hips, chin in the air.

Arthur didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at the change in his manservant. If he was honest, it was something to behold. It _looked_ like Merlin, only… noble. Almost handsome.

“You’ll have to do,” he muttered at last, turning away from Merlin. He faced the tailor and bowed slightly to the woman. “You have outdone yourself, Loret. Thank you.”

She blushed to the roots of her hair. “Thank you, highness. The other garments are being packed now.” She then bowed herself out of Arthur’s chambers and, he hoped, was headed for a long and well deserved sleep.

“Go take those clothes off, Merlin; you’ll need them for tomorrow.”

“Aren’t they a bit… _fancy_ for travel?” Merlin asked, glancing down at the tunic and smoothing a non-existent crease.

“No,” Arthur said with a sigh. “They _are_ your travel clothes. We can’t have anyone in Carmarthen, or its boarders, seeing you dressed any other way. Remember, the moment we leave Camelot you are Arthur Pendragon.”

“I… understand. I won’t let you down, sire.”

 

 

 

Arthur always knew that it was going to be hard to see Merlin pretending to be him. It had never really occurred to Arthur to consider his own role in the farce. But he was beginning to have an inkling.

Merlin was enjoying himself a little too much, bossing Arthur around like… well, his manservant. _Fetch me this! And fetch me those. Don’t speak to royalty like that or I’ll have you put in the stocks. I am_ not _a moron. Am I swaggering enough?_

As for the journey itself… the pace was slow and monotonous. There were only so many hills and trees Arthur had the patience to look at and the company left much to be desired. Besides the idiotic jokes from Merlin, Arthur’s band of knights were thoroughly enjoying the sight of their leader floundering as a manservant.

Then there was the rain. It wasn’t the crisp summer rain that almost hurt when it landed on you, but rather that insufferable drizzle that never quite let up long enough for any of your clothes to dry. Even Merlin’s seemingly permanent grin began to wane after a week in the saddle.

“Don’t make me get back on that horse,” Merlin said at the end of a stop for midday meal. “I never want to see another horse again as long as I live. And neither does my arse.”

“Poor Merlin,” Arthur said, but there was little sympathy in his voice. With grim satisfaction he showed Merlin how limber he was and vaulted onto his own horse.

“Bit of a show-off for a manservant, aren’t you?”

“I thought I said something about shutting up. Several times. For several days. Stop complaining, Merlin. We’ll be at Carmarthen by sunset.”

Merlin nodded his head in relief. He took a deep breath and held it as he winched himself back onto the horse. The smile was definitely gone. However, it was as Arthur said; in the last rays of sunlight the delegation from Camelot arrived in Carmarthen.

“Lord Idris’s castle is not far,” Arthur said, pointing out a point of light nestling in the distant hills.

They all sat up a little straighter at the thought of a night somewhere warm and dry. They heeled their mounts into a steady trot, anxious to be at their destination. Quarter of an hour into their advance on Lord Idris’s castle a voice cried _Halt!_ from somewhere ahead.

Arthur had to physically stop himself from lifting a hand to stop his men. Much to his surprise Merlin did it for him. Perhaps the idiot wasn’t as thick as he’d thought. Arthur felt hope warm his limbs.

A thick-set man on horseback appeared from the gloom of the early evening. He had long dark hair tied in messy plaits and held a spear in his right fist.

“Are you Prince Arthur of Camelot?” the sentry asked, looking at Merlin impassively.

“I am,” Merlin replied. There was no shake in his voice, for which Arthur was relieved.

“I have been instructed by my lord Idris, to accompany you to Chenhinen Bedr Castle.” Without waiting for Merlin’s response, the man turned his horse and moved away from the party. They had no choice but to follow.

Before long they were in the lee of a huge stone fortress. It looked very old, obviously a remnant from the Roman occupation of Britain. Their guide saluted two of his brethren who stood at the barbican guarding the castle’s drawbridge. As they crossed the moat into the large bailey, Arthur couldn’t help but analyse the place for weaknesses, he was a warrior after all. Guards patrolled the ramparts and the walls were thick and sturdy. It was nowhere near as big as Camelot, but squat and solid and old. There was an air of brooding intimidation. Arthur felt himself shiver, a reaction that had less to do with the cold than he told himself it did.

Their guide dismounted and gestured for them to do the same. Silent grooms drifted into view, taking hold of horses and leading them away to the stables.

“Follow me,” the man said and marched towards the castle’s keep. Arthur glanced at Merlin, trying to decipher the expression on the young man’s face. He wanted to tell Merlin that it would all be alright, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to him, but he knew that it was foolish to speak out loud, so said nothing.

Merlin mounted the keep steps behind their silent guide and the others followed. At the top of the stairs was a large door leading to the Great Hall. The noise and light and warmth hit Arthur like a blunt object; it left him slightly breathless and blinking blindly into the light.

“My lord, I have brought you Prince Arthur Pendragon, son of King Uther Pendragon of Camelot,” announced the guide in a voice that carried across the hall. The Great Hall immediately quieted down. A man sitting in a large wooden throne stood.

“I thank you, Caden,” he said.

Their guide, Caden, nodded and turned away abruptly. After only a slight hesitation, Merlin moved forward purposefully. When he had reached the head table, he bowed slightly. The depth of his bow was perfect. Had Merlin pretended to be incompetent just for Arthur’s benefit?

Lord Idris was a broad man with a bushy grey beard and a deep, yet oddly gentle, voice. “Welcome men of Camelot. I am Lord Idris,” he said in that deceptively tranquil voice.

“This is my lady wife, Moire.” Idris gestured to a handsome woman with a round face and wide set blue eyes. She sat in a throne to his right. “And my daughters, the ladies Arianwyn and Rhiannon.” The young women were copies of their mother, except that the eldest held an expression of dignity that reminded Arthur strongly of Lord Idris.

“You must be weary and starved. Please, come forward and be seated. Let there be no ceremony tonight. Prince Arthur, I would be honoured if you sat at my right.” Idris waved towards the empty chair between him and his lady. It was a beautiful seat, almost as intricate as Idris’s own throne.

“You have my gratitude, Lord Idris,” Merlin said with a charming smile. Arthur wanted to roll his eyes; the boy was not showing the proper decorum the situation warranted. But the smile seemed to do something odd to those exposed to it. Lord Idris’s eyes sparkled with mirth, Lady Moire smiled for the first time, the youngest daughter blushed and the eldest watched Merlin with intense eyes. Arthur was a little baffled.

He followed ‘Prince Arthur’ and mounted the dais where he stood sentry beside Merlin the entire meal. It was dull work, yet oddly exhausting. Arthur didn’t think he’d ever take to being a manservant and wondered how Merlin managed to do it, and do it with a smile on his face.

It was strange not being the centre of attention. Everyone in the Great Hall kept looking surreptitiously at Merlin seated between the Lord and Lady. There was an air of expectation and it wasn’t directed at Arthur for once. It was both liberating and frustrating. He wondered what Merlin thought of it all.

 

 

 

“How’d I do, Arthur? Was I royal enough?” Merlin asked later that night in the chamber set aside for them.

“Yes, and don’t call me that. We don’t know who might be listening.” Arthur stripped off his damp outer clothing and dropped it in a heap on the floor. He strode towards the fire and practically stood in it to get as warm as possible.

Merlin chuckled to himself. “Understood,” he said and dropped his own cloak and tunic on the soggy pile. Merlin went to stand next to Arthur and bask in the fire. They stood side by side for a moment, silently concentrating on the flames warming their stiff limbs.

“What should I expect tomorrow?” Merlin asked at last, turning to put his back to the fire. Arthur turned too.

“Well, there will be a bit more ceremony. We will present the family with the gifts we brought to show our good intentions and –” Arthur tried not to hit Merlin as the boy wiggled his arse a little closer to the fire. “ _And_ ,” Arthur continued, giving Merlin a pointed look, “Lord Idris will probably invite you into his council chamber to discuss his reasons for bringing us on this embassy.”

“Do you know why?”

“I have a few ideas, yes.”

“He isn’t how I imagined him. I think he will be fair in his terms. From the way you described him, I was expecting a hostile reception. After all, your father and Lord Idris don’t seem to have ever agreed on policy. To be honest, I was expecting someone ruthless, unbending. Someone more like – ” Merlin stopped abruptly, his ears turning a bright pink.

Arthur scowled. It was true that of the two leaders Lord Idris was the more placid and charismatic. But Uther needed to be ruthless. God only knew what would have become of Camelot if his father had allowed magic to continue. If not for Uther’s hard _unbending_ rule Camelot would not be the power it was today. So what if Lord Idris was not what he’d expected? That did not mean Arthur suddenly trusted the man.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. Just tired.”

“I think we could both do with some sleep,” Arthur said stiffly, walking away from the fire towards the bed.

The bed was made up with fresh linen that smelt like lavender. Arthur sighed into the soft feather pillows, revelling in lying down on something other than the hard ground. There was an awkward cough. Arthur cracked open his eyes.

“Where shall I sleep, sire? There are no extra blankets for the floor…” Merlin was looking longingly at the bed and shivering pitifully. Arthur sighed and moved a little toward the left side of the mattress to make room.

“Don’t be a moron. Come and get warm.”

Merlin smiled and hurried over to the bed. The look on his face as he sank into the covers nearly made Arthur laugh out loud, but he kept himself in check. Merlin seemed to be in ecstasy, he closed his eyes and wiggled further into the bed – then nothing. Arthur thought the other man had fallen asleep, so when Merlin spoke, he was a little surprised.

“You know,” came the sleepy voice, “if anyone found us like this, they’d be rather suspicious of our relationship.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur said with a frown and a strange heat in his cheeks. “Go to sleep.” He turned his back on Merlin and closed his eyes. A moment later he was fast asleep, cheeks still warm.

 

 

 

The next morning Arthur was roused by a hand on his shoulder. He groaned and moved away from the offending touch. All he wanted was to stay asleep.

“Arthur.” It was Merlin.

“Go away. It’s not even dawn yet,” he complained in a voice muffled with sleep.

“I know, but you have work to do. If anyone is going to believe you’re really my manservant, you have to get moving.”

Arthur rolled over to face his assailant. Merlin was leaning over him, his hair sticking up in a hundred different directions and his face creased with lines from the fold of the sheets. He looked ridiculous, but not as ridiculous as his words were.

“What?” Arthur demanded. Merlin looked apologetic.

“As a manservant you must to get up before your master,” he explained quietly.

“Why?” Arthur could hear the petulance in his own voice, but didn’t care.

“To take my clothes from yesterday to the laundry, to set out my clothes for today, to go to the kitchen for my breakfast – ”

“Alright! Alright! I’m getting up.”

 

 

 

Arthur had no idea where he was or where the laundry might be. He cursed that he hadn’t thought to ask Merlin before he left the room. Arthur had never needed to visit the laundry in Camelot, so guessing where it was within Chenhinen Bedr Castle left him blank. In desperation, he did some subtle flirting with a maid who blushed and simpered and offered to take the damp clothes herself. She also told him how to find the kitchens. _One down_ , Arthur thought as he went to tackle breakfast like a man headed into battle.

Merlin didn’t look too pleased when he got back with their food.

“Where have you been?”

“Doing as you told me, _sire_ ,” Arthur said mockingly. “Breakfast? Remember?” He lifted the tray for Merlin to see.

“Forget the food, you’ve taken so long that we don’t have time to eat. I’m supposed to meet with Lord Idris in a few minutes. And why in God’s name are there so many buttons?”

In Merlin’s anxiety, he was already struggling to dress himself and failing miserably. The offending item was a black shirt with a high collar and long, tight sleeves. The little buttons that ran up the arms appeared to be defeating Merlin. Arthur put the tray of food down and stalked forward.

“Calm down,” he said firmly as he finished buttoning the sleeves. “You’re getting flustered. The meeting is nothing to worry about. Just listen, be prompt in your replies, and be polite… do as we practiced.”

Merlin nodded and took a deep breath. He turned and brought forward another garment. It was a sleeveless tunic that had been dyed a radiant blue, and across the chest was the Pendragon emblem. Merlin slipped it over his head and adjusted it across his shoulders.

“Don’t forget these,” Arthur said, handing over two solid gold cuffs. Merlin looked a little startled and glanced at Arthur for reassurance. “Go on. You have to play the part, no half measures.”

Merlin took the cuffs and clamped them over each wrist, muttering something that sounded like _bloody heavy_ and turning his wrists to see the effect.

Once again Arthur was slightly winded by the change that the clothes had on his manservant. The blue of the tunic was the perfect hew for Merlin; it made his eyes look bigger and more intense; the sort of eyes that belonged to someone much older. The black shirt underneath made Merlin’s skin look pale and otherworldly, while the gold made him appear every inch a king.

Arthur shook his head at the sudden barrage of strange and embarrassing thoughts. There wasn’t time to be poetic.

“And comb your hair,” he snapped, handing Merlin a brush.

 

 

 

Arthur could tell that Merlin was trying not to fall asleep, but he couldn’t hit his manservant in front of Lord Idris and the chiefs of the Demetae tribe. He had warned Merlin of the ceremonies. Though, to give him his due, Arthur was probably the only one in the council chamber to notice the signs of the young man’s boredom. He just knew how to read Merlin.

“Now, I wish to address another topic with Prince Arthur,” Lord Idris said lacing his fingers together and leaning back in his chair. “What are your views on sorcery?”

Arthur nearly dropped the goblet of water he was holding. Damn. He hoped Merlin was ready for this; he was going to have to be particularly diplomatic. God forbid he should inadvertently start a war by being the idiot he usually was.

Arthur was pleased to see Merlin sit up a little straighter. His eyes had gone very round and serious.

“It is no secret that my father has outlawed the practice of sorcery in Albion,” Merlin began slowly, picking his words with great care. “I understand that this has caused some disquiet from our neighbours. However, it is a law meant to protect. Sorcery can be dangerous and my father does not wish for his kingdom to be subject to its darker side.”

Arthur felt himself let out a silent breath of relief. He’d trained Merlin well, it would seem. Lord Idris was nodding his head slowly.

“An admirable answer, my lord,” he murmured. “You have expressed what your father feels about sorcery eloquently. However, I asked what _your_ feelings on sorcery were.”

Merlin’s eyes widened again but he said nothing. _Speak! Say something!_ Arthur cried silently. It was a difficult question but all Merlin need to do was come up with an answer similar to what he’d just given.

“Myself? I…” Merlin paused. Then he looked up, right into Lord Idris’s eyes, and there was a new determination in his face. It was a look Arthur had seen often, like the time Merlin had drunk from the poisoned chalice. Arthur’s heart sank.

“I believe,” Merlin began with more strength and certainty in his voice, “that King Uther is correct, that sorcery in the wrong hands is a dangerous thing. But the same could be said of many things. So it is with a sword.”

To demonstrate the point, Merlin stood and took the sword from the scabbard that hung around his waist. He held it up to the room. The chieftains all shifted slightly as though ready for a fight, nervous of the weapon and Merlin’s sudden movements. Arthur was furious. He knew Merlin hadn’t noticed the reaction. _What was he playing at?_

But the blade did not stay up for long. Merlin rested it on the table in front of him for all to see.

“I have trained men to use this sword to protect themselves, to fight for the honour and defence of Camelot. I do not expect them to pick it up for use against the weak and untrained. I _trust_ them to know the difference. I _trust_ them to use their judgement. Yet there are plenty who would take this sword and sully its use, to threaten, to harm, to murder.

“I think sorcery is the same as this sword. There are, of course, those who become corrupted by the power they wield, but not all sorcerers are cut from the same cloth. There will always be bad men in this world, but there are just as many good. The knights of Camelot prove this every time they pick up a sword.” Merlin stopped his speech abruptly, as though he suddenly realised where he was and whom he was addressing. He took up the sword once more, sheathed it quickly and sat down.

The hall was all stillness and silence. Arthur didn’t know what to feel. Part of him was still furious (how dare he speak so? And against the _King_?) but another part of him saw a glimmer of sense in Merlin’s words.

“You speak truth, young Pendragon,” said Lord Bevin, a loud man with a staggering amount of red hair. The other chieftains nodded in agreement.

“You are a wise young man,” Lord Idris said quietly.

Merlin’s face turned a mild shade of pink.

 

 

 

“Did you say those things because of your friend Will? Because he was a sorcerer?” Arthur asked that night as they lay side by side in the darkened chamber. Merlin was silent for a long time, but Arthur knew Merlin was no more asleep than he was.

“Yes and no,” came the reply.

“I don’t understand you, Merlin!” Arthur hit his head against the pillow and pulled more of the covers over his body.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I really am.”

“What you said… you really believe that, don’t you.”

“Yes.”

Arthur turned on his side, leaning on an elbow to look down at Merlin in the semi-darkness. The firelight cast a dim glow on the other man making his high cheekbones stand out even more. Arthur didn’t know whether he should admit that what Merlin had said had shaken him so terribly. Duty to his father and the law was strong in him, but so was his sense of morality and justice. He didn’t like being torn in two directions.

Arthur continued to look down at his manservant. Merlin’s eyes were big and dark. He looked a little frightened.

“But… why?” Arthur asked. “ _Is_ it because of Will?”

“Yes and no,” Merlin said again. “I understand that your father wants to protect Camelot from harm, but that doesn’t always work. Remember Gwen? He was ready to kill her! We found she wasn’t a sorceress, but so what if she was? She wanted to save a dying man. And what would your father have done if Will had survived? Will saved my village, saved _you_ , by using magic. Can you honestly say that the magic he used was the same as Nimueh’s?”

There was a pleading earnestness in Merlin’s words. He was watching Arthur with keen eyes. Arthur felt himself stiffen as Merlin opened his mouth again. “Like I said, power will always corrupt some, whether through a sword, sorcery or even kingship.”

“Careful, Merlin,” he bit out, voice cold. “You’re on dangerous ground.”

“I know. I just thought you wanted to hear my honest opinion.”

“You know I value your opinion,” Arthur said with exasperation and flopped back down on the bed. He could feel the heat of Merlin’s body warming his right side. “Though, you seem to have a somewhat selective perceptiveness. Where on earth did that eloquence come from? Where was the village idiot?” He paused. “I might value what you have to say, Merlin, but I _am_ still your prince. There’s a limit to my tolerance.”

“I’m sorry if I… overstepped my place,” the young man said, his voice worried. He moved a little closer to Arthur so that their shoulders were touching; a warm point of contact. _Like a kiss_ , Arthur thought before he could stop himself. He hoped Merlin couldn’t see his face.

“I know,” he said in reply. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

 

 

 

Arthur was exhausted; he hadn’t managed to sleep more than an hour. He’d been up all night thinking about Merlin and what had been said. His mind just kept going over the points until his head ached and his eyes stung. He’d finally dropped off only to be kicked by a groggy bed-partner who told him to get up and find breakfast.

Now he was standing besides Merlin on a knoll to the east of the castle. Sometime during the night the incessant rain had stopped. Lord Idris declared that it was fate and that games should be played in honour of the guests from Camelot. Merlin had gone pale; Arthur could only scowl. While the other knights limbered up, Merlin said that he wished to observe the games for once. Arthur tried not to roll his eyes; his reputation was going to be in tatters.

As Merlin sat surveying the archery, Lord Idris’s youngest daughter sidled up. Rhiannon was looking at Merlin coyly through long lashes. Flirtation was plain to see in every dip of her head and toss of her hair, plain to all except Merlin. Sometimes he really lacked the ability to pick up on the blindingly obvious.

“My lord Arthur,” she said, dropping a charming curtsy. Merlin inclined his head. “Don’t you wish to join your knights? I have heard great things about your prowess on the field and in tournaments. I had hoped to cheer you on.”

Merlin looked a little taken aback, but a brilliant smile lit his face an instant later. Rhiannon blushed and Arthur choked, feeling unduly irritated.

“I thank you for your kind compliments, but the stories of my prowess have been greatly exaggerated.” Merlin glanced surreptitiously at where Arthur stood beside him. “I am but a humble servant to my people.”

The audacity and playfulness of Merlin was quite staggering. Arthur found he was both completely annoyed and completely amused.

“Surely you’re being modest, my lord,” the Lady Rhiannon said moving forward. She got close enough that her skirt brushed Merlin’s knee. “But I can assure you that the stories of your handsomeness have _not_ been greatly exaggerated. I can see that they are true with my own eyes.”

Merlin blinked. And so did Arthur.

Finally, Merlin laughed awkwardly and ducked his head. “Thank you, Lady Rhiannon.”

“Rhiannon!” The voice was sharp with warning. Lady Moire appeared, seemingly from nowhere. The girl blushed and dipped a curtsy to her mother, before hurrying away. “I apologise for my daughter, Prince Arthur. She should know her place.”

“Please, don’t worry, my lady. I understand,” Merlin said with an easy smile, though Arthur knew Merlin didn’t really understand what the girl had been after.

Lady Moire was silent for a long time. Finally she looked up and said, “My lord husband begs your audience. He wishes to discuss something of importance with you in the council chamber. Would you follow me?”

“Of course,” Merlin replied, jumping up. Arthur felt himself tense. _What was this about?_

Merlin gave Arthur a look.

“Your manservant may accompany you, if you wish,” Lady Moire said mildly. Arthur narrowed his eyes, watching the woman carefully, but she gave nothing away.

“You’re supposed to bow,” Merlin said under his breath. Startled, Arthur complied. He heard Merlin turn to Lady Moire. “He’s quite the most useless manservant I’ve ever had.”

 

 

 

“Welcome,” said Lord Idris turning to Merlin and Arthur as they entered the council chamber. He looked Merlin over first and then, for the first time since arriving in Carmarthen, the Welsh lord looked directly at Arthur. There was amusement in his grey eyes. Lord Idris bowed respectfully to Arthur, not Merlin.

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced, Prince Arthur.”

Merlin looked at him in panic, but Arthur just shook his head, a sign to stay quiet. Arthur returned the bow. “How did you guess?” he asked, as he straightened.

“I would expect nothing less of King Uther. I was anticipating that something like this would occur. However,” he grinned ruefully, “it did take me some time to figure out that you were the manservant and not one of the knights.”

Arthur inclined his head. “My lord, I hope you do not take this as a sign that Camelot is unwilling to work towards a treaty with Carmarthen.”

“No. No indeed. I am just as committed to a treaty as you. But first,” he turned to Merlin, “tell me. Who are you? A royal advisor, perhaps? Certainly not a knight.”

Merlin bowed low. “I am Merlin Emrys, manservant to Prince Arthur of Camelot.”

“A manservant? You are very shrewd for a manservant, Master Emrys.” He looked Merlin over very carefully. “So young. You must hold on to this manservant of yours, my lord.”

“I have no intention of giving him up,” Arthur said with a little smile in Merlin’s direction. Merlin’s ears went red with all the praise.

“Now, Master Emrys, would you please step out of the room for a moment while I talk to Prince Arthur?”

“My lord,” Merlin said with another bow and left.

“Please sit.” He gestured to a chair. “Good. Now, I brought you here this morning for several reasons. I’m assuming that most of what your manservant said yesterday, trade movement, military help, boarder disputes, was your personal agreement of the treaty?”

“Yes, my lord. Merlin was merely my mouth-piece.”

“Good. Understand I had to know for certain. I could not let the wrong man sign the treaty; it would not be right.”

Arthur nodded. Lord Idris poured wine into two fluted goblets and handed one to Arthur.

“But also I brought you here for another reason,” the lord said, settling his goblet on the arm rest of his chair. “I have the feeling that Master Emrys was speaking his own mind regarding sorcery.”

“Merlin was not instructed to say what he did,” Arthur began. He paused, looking into the dark wine. He saw his blurred reflection stare back at him. “But what he said, it made me think. I was awake all night thinking. I support my father in his endeavour to keep Camelot safe from sorcery. There was chaos before my father’s decree. However, I find I am more inclined to bend on _certain_ issues that my father would not. There is nothing I can do about this, not while he is king. I will not undermine his rule.”

“Very well, Prince Arthur. I thank you for the truth you speak. I am happy with your answer.”

“Happy enough to sign the treaty?” Arthur questioned.

“Yes.”

“Why did you call for this embassy? Why now, after all these years?” Arthur asked, voicing a question that had been nagging at the back of his mind since Uther had told him of Lord Idris’s request.

“I’ve known for years what King Uther’s views are and that neither of us would be able to see eye to eye. We never have. I disagree with his stance on sorcery entirely. In banishing all sorcery, he banishes the light as well as the dark, and I cannot condone that.”

Arthur didn’t say anything as Lord Idris paused and took a drink of his wine. The older man sat the goblet down again and continued.

“However, what his son Arthur Pendragon believed…? That was another thing entirely. I called for an embassy when I thought you old enough. I hoped that perhaps we could see eye to eye. I hoped you would be prepared to consider my suggestion of offering up any sorcerers found in Camelot to Carmarthen, before death was chosen as their fate. I would happily give them asylum.”

“You mean to harbour Camelot’s enemies?” Arthur asked sharply.

“Calm yourself, my lord. I did not mean to suggest that I wanted to give safe haven to _all_ sorcerers. Any enemy to Camelot should be dealt with as your father sees fit. I have no bones with that; it is his right. I simply meant to save those innocent of any crime.”

“You know I cannot offer you that,” Arthur said quietly. He shook his head. “I am not the king. I will ask my father because I think it is a fair request. But do not expect a yes,” Arthur warned.

“And nor shall I expect it.” Lord Idris set down his empty goblet and offered to fill the prince’s again. Arthur laid a hand over the top of the goblet and shook his head. Lord Idris leaned back in his seat and surveyed Arthur for a long time.

“Maybe not eye to eye,” he said into the silence, “but what I have seen I find promising. I understand your loyalty to your father, but you are not completely bound by the same beliefs as he, I think. Come, it is time to sign the treaty.”

Lord Idris stood then and called out in his native tongue. Suddenly doors were opening all over and servants, retainers and an official man in strange yellow robes came into the council chamber. Arthur saw Merlin come in and position himself by the far wall.

The man in yellow came forward and laid a beautifully crafted piece of vellum, elaborately decorated with red and blue and green and gold, on the table before them. He began to read out the treaty for all parties to hear. Arthur listened.

“Do you agree to these terms I have read to you, my lord Arthur?” asked the man in yellow after the recital.

“I do.”

He was handed a quill that had already been dipped in ink. Slowly he scratched in the words: _Arturos Princeps, Equite._ Lord Idris looked down at the signature and smiled slightly.

“My lord Idris, do you agree to the terms as I have read them?”

“I do.” He too wrote his name on the beautiful white vellum. And it was done.

 

 

 

“Shove over,” Merlin said that evening, giving Arthur a hard push as he slid in beside him. “Why do you always have to take up most of the bed? And all the covers.”

“I do not steal _all_ of the bed. Besides, I am _Prince Arthur_ ; I can take up as much of this bed as I like. At least,” he said, turning to face Merlin, “I do not snore.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and ignored the jibe, partly because it was true. “Pleased to be a prince again, I take it?”

“I’m far too noble to be a manservant,” Arthur said haughtily. Merlin laughed and Arthur joined in. He was a little inebriated, if he was honest. There had been a marvellous feast in honour of the signing of the treaty. And he did enjoy a good wine.

“I’m glad it worked out,” Merlin said with sleepy sincerity, eyes drifting shut. Arthur felt him move closer to the centre of the bed so that more than their shoulders were touching. The contact did rather feel like a kiss. It was just as intimate and warm and comforting. He shivered.

Without really thinking about what he was doing beyond _wanting to_ , Arthur rolled towards Merlin so that they were sharing the same breathing space. Merlin didn’t even open his eyes, just shifted a leg so that the cold toes of his right foot were trapped under Arthur’s calf. Arthur concentrated on breathing in as Merlin breathed out. He felt calmer and happier than he had for a long while. It was strange that Merlin of all people could give him some semblance of peace.

“Did you mean what you said to Lord Idris?” Merlin asked suddenly.

“About what?”

“That you had no intention of giving me up?”

“Yes. Sorry, but you’re tied to me.”

Merlin smiled and shifted again so that his head was tucked close to Arthur’s chest. “Good.” He yawned. “That’s good...”

Just before Arthur drifted off to sleep, a thought occurred to him. It would be his turn to kick Merlin out of bed in the morning for breakfast. A contented and decidedly evil smile spread across his face. Life was good.


End file.
